Are We Bad?

For inspiration I would haunt myself with memories of her body that day in the creek, and replay all the details into which I would now insert desperate and preposterous questions: had she secretly been turned on by it? Had she somehow watched me out the corner of her eye without my noticing?

At other times I would masturbate to photos of her on my phone. One in particular showed her lying topless in the sun. I had taken it without her knowing. I spent hours scrutinizing this photo, zooming in and out. And when I still couldn't get close enough, I snapshotted the close-up and tried to zoom in on that. The object of my desperate zooming was the gusset of her red bikini bottoms which didn't become more visible but only more pixelated - an increasingly exasperating blur; impossible to decipher let alone discover anything new from. This blur served as an apt metaphor for the impossibility of my compulsion for her in general.

The fact that I ignored her bare breasts in the same picture tells you the degree to which I had learned the picture inside out and was in need of further stimuli. It also serves as a reminder that so often the truest objects of our desire are the ones that remain shrouded in mystery, not the ones we can see. (Not that I had her permission for any of this incestuous lechery).

There were plenty of hot girls at college and several that were into me, and yet I couldn't have cared less. Even when Kristi, one of the hottest girls in our coed dorm, flashed her perfect bell-shaped tits at me one night outside the student bar, all I could think was that they weren't Amy's and therefore, much like the unlimited online porn at my fingertips, they could represent nothing of value.

Midway through November, I noticed on Facebook that Amy was starting to post photos and exchange more public messages with a good looking guy called Max. It wasn't clear if he was a friend or romantic interest, but after many unhealthy nights cyberstalking them both, I became convinced they were an item.

I don't know why I didn't simply ask if she had a boyfriend. I suppose I was worried it might provide a clue to my dirty secret. I could have asked Mom on one of our infrequent phone calls but even that struck me as risky. And let's be honest, I didn't want to know the truth. I preferred to torture myself with the idea, because at least then there was a possibility it wasn't true. But when I returned home for Christmas my worst fears were confirmed almost immediately.

I had only been back four hours but it was enough time for me to be introduced to Max, a "friend" from my sister's Design class who Mom seemed awfully familiar with. And he was sat at the table for my first dinner home. Amy even held hands with him, just briefly - a clasp of reassurance that he was doing well at this first meeting with her brother. I know her so well. I can't explain it. It felt like I was inside her mind sometimes, or at least that I had a window.

Max was a big dude. At least 6 foot 3, a football player. He had broad shoulders and giant biceps. I was more transfixed by him than she was for most of the dinner. I was deeply curious about their dynamic. After I'd been sat there for about twenty minutes, I had already downloaded everything about their relationship. He was super into her physically but had no interest in how smart or deep she was. She clearly liked him, but not as much. And she didn't particularly care what he thought of me but she was worried what I might think of him. She wanted my blessing, if not my approval. I loved her and should have just given it to her like any decent human, let alone a brother with our shared history of closeness. But I didn't.

When she and I were loading dishes into the dishwasher in between courses, I whispered to her sternly, what the fuck was she doing with someone like that? A truly insipid thing to say when I didn't know the first thing about him. And she didn't even get angry, though she had a right to. She just told me to chill out, that she was only having fun and fooling around with him - a guy from her class. She wasn't about to go and marry him. She was going to college next year and didn't want anything serious.

This of course infuriated me even more and sent me into a turmoil of jealousy. I would have preferred they were virgins engaged to be married than fooling around and having "fun", whatever that was. Was it three blowjobs? Or would three constitute more fun than that so it was only two?

After dinner, when we'd spent little more than twenty minutes drinking coffee and getting to know each other, she suddenly got up, reached out for Max's hand, and took him off to bed with her.

"Good night", she said, as they left.

"Night", he added sheepishly.

All this in full view of our Mom, and with her apparent consent.

I waited until they had gone and then hissed at my mother: "Since when has she been able to bring any old guy home for a sleepover, like some little slut?

Mom was taken aback. We were a relaxed rules family. How was this a surprise?

"He's not any old guy," she said, laughing. "He's Max!" She wasn't even angry because she knew it was so absurd. "They are both grown ups. She'll be 19 soon. I'd much rather know where she is, and he's a sweetheart. Look at the bird table he built us!"

I didn't want to look at his stupid bird table, I didn't want to see his chiseled face. And I didn't want his dirty great hands all over my sister. I stormed up to bed. But naturally I didn't try to sleep or relax. I spent the next hour with my ear, a glass and even an about-turned speaker, all pressed up against Amy's wall in an attempt to overhear everything, anything they might be doing.

As it happens, apart from the occasional low rumbling of a voice or brief shriek of probable laughter from Amy, I heard nothing but the subwoofer-ed bass of her bedroom sound system playing R&B. The volume at which it was set, I decided, was the perfect level for covering up the sounds of fucking. And so, choosing to be a dick again, I decided to knock on the door. I had to bang several times to elicit a response. Eventually the music stopped.

"What?" my sister said through the door, palpable annoyance in her tone.

"The music is too loud, I said."

"Since when do you care?" she replied.

There was a pause as I didn't know how to answer.

"Fine, she said. "I'll turn it down."

Whether she adjusted the volume, I couldn't hear any difference. But more importantly, I still couldn't hear anything through the wall. It was then that I wondered if the curtains were fully drawn to her room.

I climbed out the window of my own room onto the soft grass below, and making sure to avoid casting a shadow, crept a few feet through the yard and quietly jumped the hedge. Her bedroom was the corner room of the house and backed onto the woods. So I tiptoed, my feet crunching against the brush, over to where I might be able to see through her window.

The scrub was much denser than I'd expected and I had to pretty much wade through the foliage. Something sharp scratched my leg. But eventually I arrived a few feet away, almost unnervingly close to her bedroom window, where I crouched in the long grass. The light inside the room was dim but in contrast to the dark outside I had a perfect view within. The curtains were open and both windows were ajar; loud music flooding into the night air.

At first I could only see the back of Max's head in the orange glow of the solitary lamplight in the room. He was sat on a chair with his back to the window. I couldn't see Amy at first but when she came into view her top was off, her bare tits confidently on display. Was she dancing for him? She had an expression I had never seen before. She seemed powerfully in command of the sexual allure that was dripping from her.

She moved in to kiss him and for a while all I could see was the back of his curly mop of hair while his vast hands mauled her little breasts. He was molding and squeezing them with his palms, pinching her nipples and presumably sucking them into his mouth - although I couldn't get a clear view.

It wasn't anger I felt in this moment but pure, voyeuristic lust. I could feel myself growing hard. Quietly and awkwardly, I shuffled my knees closer until I was less than two feet from the open window. I was still crouched out of sight but would have been spotted in an instant if either of them had come near. My heart was racing at the audacity of what I was doing. But I didn't care. I was too hungry to witness this - whatever it was, and I couldn't have left if I'd wanted to.

After a while of sucking on her sweet breasts, Max stood up. His hands were all over her slim body, gathering up her ass cheeks, kneading her back, and massaging her hardening tits. She also appeared to be rubbing him through the crotch of his jeans.

For the next couple of minutes I could see nothing besides his back, which was increasingly arched and stiff as he experienced whatever was going on down there. The two of them formed a single entity in the dim light, all limbs and sensuality. And then, just as I was contemplating changing position to get a better view, Amy came over to his side and knelt down on the bed (a futon on the floor). Max turned to her and I was granted a perfect view of what transpired.

She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, teasing them down with his boxers. His fully erect, truncheon-sized cock sprang out, virtually into her face. It was a beast of a thing, smooth and thick as her arm. Picture book perfect. Of course, I thought, rolling my eyes, my sister would have to be dating a stud.

Gripping the base of his thick shaft, Max directed his glans towards her lips. She opened her mouth sensually and took the head inside; at first sucking on the tip like a gobstopper, but then easing a good half of its length into her mouth. She could barely open wide enough to receive it but was hell bent on trying. For the next mesmerizing minute, I watched my own younger sister - drool spilling from the edges of her lips - struggle to suck this enormous cock.

To begin with Max seemed to surrender to the experience she was providing. But as he got more into it, and presumably more aroused, he wanted more control. He pulled out his cock, now wet and slick, and began slapping it over her face, her eyelids, her tongue. She closed her eyes grinning, happily submitting to the battery, her eager tongue escaping in hungry flicks to try and catch the fat head back inside. Then he plunged it sideways into the cavern of her mouth and began fucking the inner folds of her cheek. He was quite rough and seemed to care little about her well-being.

This all served to make me more jealous and angry than when she had been directing the action herself. Now I felt disgusted at the way she was allowing herself to be used by this brute. I also felt more aroused, perhaps at her vulnerability or how playfully permissive she was being. It was the moment I realized my sister was clearly an amazing lay.

The whole display was one of the most erotic things I had ever seen. And despite the fact it was awkward enough kneeling down in the dirt, I pulled down my jogging pants and released my own stiff cock. It felt delicious in the cool air of the night. And to a chorus of cicadas and R&B music, I began to hungrily but quietly jerk myself off, just a few feet from the open window through which my sister blew this giant dick.

Just as I was wondering if he was ever going to fuck her, he pulled his cock out of her mouth. She flinched in surprise as he shot forceful ropes of cum into her face, one after the other. The sight was so stimulating that I felt my knees buckle. I collapsed back onto my ankles and began pumping out heavy spurts of my own sperm up against the wall. Even when Max was done cumming, she was required to suck the last drops out of him and lick his big cock clean.

I must have collapsed onto a twig or something, because there was a sudden noise beneath my leg that made me fear I had alerted them to my presence. The mere possibility made me quickly pull up my pants and flee back through the wood. I jumped the hedge and climbed back in through my own bedroom window on the other side of the house, my heart racing.

I continued to try to listen into her room for the next few hours, imagining what pornographic acts they might be engaged in next. I could have kicked myself for not waiting around to catch the sight of them fucking. But I had more than enough to play over in my mind.

In a phantasmagoria of jealous lust that night, I jerked myself off three more times; the most desperate and weirdest being around 3am, when I stood in the hallway outside her bedroom door and literally came over her door handle. I wiped it off afterwards. But jeez, I had really lost it.

For the next few days I walked around the house like a zombie, lost in a haunted reverie about what I had witnessed that night. I couldn't stop thinking about Max's massive cock erupting in my sister's face - how jealous I was that it had occurred, how furious I was with her for allowing it, and most importantly of all, how desperate I was to do it myself.

The way she had let him slap her in the face with it; the way he had gripped her neck and forced it further into her throat, despite the fact she was visibly struggling. And the way he had so nonchalantly pumped his white lava over her face, seemingly without warning. I hated her doing things like this. She was too pure for such debauchery. Only I should be allowed to do these things to her.

In as much as the images were a torture to recall and caused me great pain, they also left me impossibly aroused, day and night. I would only have to see her cross the hallway in a tank top and it would enough to send me running to the bathroom to spill my cum in the basin.

Max stayed over again and I spent a second night with my ear pressed up against my sister's wall. I would emerge from my bedroom whenever I heard the slightest sound that might indicate one of them was emerging from hers. I was desperate to catch something through a crack in the door, or see one of them in a state of undress. I wanted to witness another lurid scenario like the one that had so distressed and aroused me the night before. Twice, I crept out my bedroom window and back to hers outside, but both times her curtains were drawn.

I stole her used panties from the laundry basket and inhaled the dreamy musk in their gusset. I wrapped my cock around the white string and jerked myself off with them, spurting my cum into the fabric. I imagined it merging with her own sex juice. The thoughts and behavior of a crazy person. This provided me relief for twenty minutes or so before the insatiable hunger would strike and I had to do it again.

The closest I got to another glimpse of them was two nights later when I walked into the kitchen late at night for some water. They were standing by the breakfast counter in their sleepwear. Amy was playing with Max's hard cock which was sticking out the buttonhole of his boxers. If I had spotted them in advance I could have lingered in the shadows to watch, but it was already too late. They stopped and covered up the instant they saw me, and busied themselves fixing a snack.

When the two of them had gone upstairs, I turned off the light in the kitchen, slipped down my pajamas and stood where Max had stood. I closed my eyes and imagined my sister in my own arms, as Max had been in hers. How she would have smelled, how her touch would have felt.

With each stroke of my hand I told myself it was her hand. My sister's hand. A hand I knew so well and had held so many times - in love, comfort, solidarity, assistance and reassurance. I had felt that warm hand on every part of my body, except this one. Now I wanted to feel her hand here. I wanted her to grab my cock and... I began to erupt pools of cum over the kitchen floor.

Max didn't stay at the house again. It was 22nd December and he flew to Virginia (or somewhere) to spend the holiday with his folks. And while I was obviously relieved to get him out of the way, it also made my desire for Amy more acute.

But now I had her to myself.

5

The next morning, while she was out getting Christmas groceries with Mom, I found myself rifling through her possessions like a cat-burglar. I opened every book she owned in case there was a secret note inside or photo; pulled out each drawer in case there was a hidden clue... to what? I don't even know. I had honestly lost my mind.

I found nothing. She seemed to be writing no journal these days, at least not one I could locate. She seemed to have no hidden secrets, unless they were hidden better than I could uncover them (I did say she's smarter than me). But it seems unlikely when I ransacked the place, always being careful to put things back the way they were, of course.

I did find a small vibrator at the back of her sock drawer, wrapped in a pair of stockings, which was a minor victory. But it made me angry to imagine her fucking herself with it like a cheap whore. My chauvinist hypocrisy was despicable. Almost all my thoughts about her were judgmental or self righteous. When I look back now, I didn't love her, I hated myself. I did not deserve her loyalty or trust at the time, and certainly not her love. I saw her primarily as an object - a collection of limbs and organs assembled to taunt me; a bear-trap left in my path and I was the bear. But in truth, the only real trap was my own sick mind.

Christmas day came and went, and even Mom noticed how sullen and distant I had become.

"Is everything all right honey?" she asked quietly after dinner, while we were tidying up. "I'm sorry I couldn't afford to buy you that Mac".

"Oh God, Mom. I'm not upset about that. You've been so generous. It's been an awesome day, really. I just... I guess I'm not feeling that great".

I gave her a hug. I longed to break down and confess. I felt like Mom would never hold anything against me. She would always accept me. But I couldn't tell her. My eyes were filled with hidden tears over her shoulder.

The last few days before Amy left for her Dad's were the last days I would see her before spring vacation. Part of me felt relieved she was leaving. At least when she was not around, I couldn't behave like such a psycho. But I also felt a heavy heart at the idea I was to lose her again for several months.

The night before she was due to leave, Amy cooked us a delicious dinner. And when Mom went off to bed, we decided to stay up and watch a movie. We sat together on the twin sofa, not exactly curled up, but pretty close. And we shared a blanket, because it was a cold night and there was only one blanket, and because it's just something harmless a brother and sister do.

We got a bunch of snacks from the kitchen that we really didn't need, turned off the lamp and watched a movie beneath our blanket on the little sofa, lit only by the brightly-colored jewels of the Christmas tree lights.

We must have been an hour into the film when I lost all attention for the plot and became fixated on her. As she lay absorbed in the movie, I was feasting on the sight of her bare arm across the blanket, the uneven edges of one of her toenails, the tiny holes in her pajama sleeve...

She grew too hot at one point and lowered her side of the blanket. Her shirt had ridden up above her pajamas. I watched her abdomen breathing in the blue light of the TV screen. For some reason those few inches of flesh were the most provocative thing I had ever seen. I wanted to smooth the skin with my fingers. I wanted to kiss around her waistband. I wanted to lift up her little pajama top and... Uh-oh, I thought. Here we go again.

I realized my cock was hard. It was concealed by the blanket but we were unnervingly close for her to accidentally find out. I kept my eyes fixed on her partially exposed mid-riff. It was a letterbox-window into her naked body. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to pull her top up and suck on her tits. I wanted to maul her with my hands like Max was allowed to do.